


Is That So? (I Should’ve Known)

by HappyDamijon



Category: Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Aged Up, Damijon - Freeform, Dating, High School, Love/Hate, M/M, Secret Identity, Teenagers, damian is mean, he’s always mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDamijon/pseuds/HappyDamijon
Summary: “Perhaps he doesn’t mind your presence,” Damian says thoughtfully. “If you’re able to go back to him.”“Oh, he hates me,” Jon says, and he rubs his jaw, as if remembering something. Damian squints, unsure why, again, something about Jon seems so familiar. “I’m just dumb. I guess I was hoping he’d change his mind.”Damian hums. “Who is he? I‘ll go speak to him.”“No, please don’t,” Jon says, and he’s chuckling again. “Oh God, that would be a sight. You and Ro—“ he stops, eyes widening. “Rory.”Damian narrows his eyes. “So his name’s Rory?”Jon laughs nervously. “Yeah. Anyway, he doesn’t go to our school or anything.”“How do you know him?”Jon blinks. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”Or:Superheroes are more protective of their civilian identities, so nobody knows who is who. Jon and Dami wind up dating and in love while Superboy and Robin hate each other





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first damijon fic! I’m used to writing fanfic already but this is my first time doing it with a DC pairing! Hopefully some people like this :) 
> 
> This was inspired by the wonderful art of psych0-olll3city on tumblr!

[http://psych0-olll3city.tumblr.com/post/175393703472/au-idea-superheroes-are-more-protective-of-their ](http://psych0-olll3city.tumblr.com/post/175393703472/au-idea-superheroes-are-more-protective-of-their)

Chapter 1

 

He watches from the rooftop he’s perched at, glaring down at six men and one woman. The sole woman and her boyfriend, or someone close at the very least, are dressed a little formally; her red dress stops at her knees, skin tight, and her partner has a nice pair of dress pants, a dark blue button up accompanying it. They don’t look too wealthy, nor poor for that matter, but she’s got a pretty purse and bracelet on her, as well as a shiny necklace, and the man with her has got an obvious wallet in his left back pocket. It’s enough to lure any of the douchebag criminals around this time of night.

He waits for the five men to approach the couple, suitably near a back alley, where it’s dark and there are no prying eyes. The girl gasps when one of the masked men grabs her arm, and she’s dragged. Her partner whips around, confused, and then he’s grabbed by two other men. Damian feels his fingers twitch, needing just a few more seconds for the scene to unfold, for it to be quite clear what their intentions are. He watches as three of the criminals pull their guns out, and two begin to search the couple for valuables.

 

“Please!” The woman says, crying. “Just take my purse! Leave us alone!”

 

One of the men laugh, roughly pulling her in close.

 

“Mm,” he groans, the woman whimpering, “I think she needs to be taught a lesson. Keep your mouth shut, munchkin, before I fill it with something else.”

 

All of them laugh, the woman gagging in disgust and complete fear. Damian tilts his head, cracks his neck, and then jumps off the ledge. That should be enough for tonight.

 

He lands on one of the criminals shoulders, giving them a hard hit on the head. They pass out, and before anyone can react, he throws three batarangs, all of which hit the hands of the men with the guns. They yell out in pain, and he quickly punches someone else, and then knees them in the balls. Someone starts to charge at him from behind, and he takes the groaning man in front of him, spinning him to body slam with the other charging at him. There’s a sharp cry, and when Damian looks at them, he realizes the guy charging at him was holding a knife, and he accidentally just stabbed his friend.

 

“ _Idiot_ ,” the man who got stabbed groans. The criminal with the knife freezes for half a second, but it’s enough for Damian to take action, and he jumps and kicks him in the face, breaking his nose.

 

Someone cocks their gun, and Damian rolls his eyes, slowly turning to see the barrel of a pathetic hand gun.

 

“Well if it ain’t Robin,” The criminal laughs. Damian raises an eyebrow under his domino mask. He wonders where there is to laugh about, as if he didn’t just take out three of his pals. The fifth one is still taking from the couple, his own gun pulled and yelling unintelligibly. “Sidekick of _Batman_. Say, what about you just get going, huh? Don’t wanna harass us men on a simple stroll across town.”

 

Damian squints his eyes. He always somehow overestimates the intelligence of a criminal. And even that bar is dangerously low. 

 

“I’ll think about it,” he says, deciding to humor the man. The criminal bares his teeth, realizing that Damian isn’t taking him seriously despite there being a gun at his face.

 

“Leave, now, before I blow your brains out,” He grits, and Damian smirks. This’ll be fun.

 

“Come on!” His friend says, his hands full of the woman’s jewelry, some contents from her purse, and the mans wallet.

 

The criminal in front of him turns his head, and there’s a vein that pops out from the side of his forehead, his face turning red. “Why didn’t you grab the fucking _purse_ , dimwit?”

 

His dimwit friend shrugs, looking down at the purse in front of the woman, who’s still crying.

 

“She has—she has pads and tampons. I didn’t want to bring ‘em.”

 

The criminal growls. “You are such a fucking—“

 

Damian grabs the gun, twisting it out of his hand. He hears a distant whoosh sound, and he quickly shoots at the guy in front of him, purposely having a bullet graze his thigh. As the criminal falls to the ground with a cry, he turns and points the gun towards the quick whooshing sound, and he see’s Superboy, giving the purse back to the crying woman and helping her partner up.

 

He looks down at the fifth guy, and he’s unconscious, snoring loudly. Damian holds back a loud groan of frustration.

 

“Here you go, ma’am,” Superboy says, walking her out of the alleyway.

 

“Thank you so much Superboy,” she says, and Damian watches in horror as she hugs him. Superboy blushes, hugging her back.

 

“Yes,” her partner says, looking shaken up. “Thank you.”

 

“Well, you two get home safe,” Superboy says, Damian still watching from further in the alley, the dark parts with the groaning and cursing men. He looks down in annoyance, he quickly gets to tying them up. Once he’s finished, it’s just his luck that the moment he notifies the police, Superboy is right there, looking proud of himself.

 

“Fuck you,” one of the men groan. It was the guy he shot at, and Damian turns to whack him, and the guy is knocked out.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Superboy says, having the audacity to sound indignant.

 

“This was _my_  mission!” Damian snarls. Superboy huffs, his fists at his waist, putting on a pose all too much like Superman. It makes Damian all the more annoyed.

 

“It’s not a _mission_ ,” Superboy says, rolling his eyes. He walks, and then he’s walking on air, floating up higher than Damian’s height, forcing Damian to look up at him. “And I decided to _help_. Thought you might need it, especially since, while you were busy taking the gun from your face, someone else had a gun pointed at your _back_.”

 

“I had it,” Damian says darkly. “Don’t interrupt me ever again, Superboy. Or I will stab you.”

 

“You always say that,” Superboy replies, sighing. “And I always come back. Why don’t you just accept that we can work well together?”

 

“ _Tt_. It’s been five years,” Damian says, lifting a hand to shoot his Batman grappling hook to the next building. “And unfortunately still counting. I’m not changing my mind.”

 

“Robin!” Superboy yells as he takes off towards a different building. Superboy doesn’t follow him, and Damian smirks, at least proud that he was able to shake the kid off for once.

 

However, everything turns to hell when he reaches the bat cave. Bruce is waiting for him, as well as Alfred, and he quickly attempts to redeem himself. He wasn’t supposed to go out tonight.

 

“I stopped five crimes, all those people are _okay_  now, the streets are getting cleaner—“

 

“You didn’t finish your homework. Again. And you disobeyed me. Again.”

 

Damian pauses, and then he clenches his fists. “I don’t mean to appear discourteous Father, but I do happen to recall that I’m eighteen, and no longer require your permission to do as I please.”

 

“That doesn’t apply under my roof,” his Father says darkly. He gets closer to Damian, his anger more and more evident. “I’ve threatened you with taking away the suit, grounding you, forbidding you from going out—and you leave me no choice Damian. I’m sending you off to school, and there’s no backing out, if you want to keep living here and being Robin.”

 

Damian scoffs, walking past his Father. “That’s all? Send me off or throw me out to the streets? I’d hate to be so defenseless.”

 

“Damian,” his Father says, pinching his nose. “That’s not what I want, but you’d leave me no choice if you refuse to go to school. I haven’t—I haven’t taught you any proper social skills, any way to get along with real people once you’re out there, and I’m sorry it took me this long. You’re smart, I know you can handle both, but those are my only two options. Force you out there, either in the real world or school.”

 

“Is that so?” Damian says, standing by Alfred. “You don’t believe it’s too late? I’m too old to learn?”

 

To Damian’s surprise, Alfred answers, as wise as ever.

 

“Master Bruce and I believe you’re intelligent enough to understand how to interact with other individuals. A few months of high school wouldn’t hurt.”

 

“ _High school_?” Damian asks, turning to his Father with wide eyes. “Wait, you’re planning on sending me to _high school_? I could _teach_ the Neanderthals there!”

 

“A senior,” his Father says calmly. “It is also to teach you about proper boundaries. How much you should let people know. What they can and can’t find out about you. A consistent public image. This is vital, especially for vigilantes and heroes alike. It’s important to keep our identities a complete secret, Damian, and anyone can figure you out from a constant catch phrase, a distinct personality. This is for _you_  Damian.”

 

“And also your way of disciplining me,” Damian says, his nose scrunching. His Father actually smiles softly at that.

 

“Two birds, one stone,” His Father says with a shrug, and Damian turns to Alfred.

 

“You are okay with this?” He says, feeling a bit betrayed.

 

Alfred sniffs. “There are plenty of things I don’t agree with that Master Bruce does, but I am confident that this has been well thought out, and he has the best intentions for you at heart.”

 

Damian looks between the two, for once his heart beat rising. He thinks, makes a split decision, and stomps his foot.

 

“Fine,” he says, forcing the word out. “ButI demand Alfred chopper me in every morning!” He continues, purposely being bratty and immature. He knows he isn’t making himself look any better by doing this, but it’s a last ditch effort to drive his Father insane. However, Bruce turns with a small smirk, his voice calm as he replied:

 

“Well, you heard the boy Alfred. I hope your flying isn’t too rusty.”

 

“I assure you, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, his nose held high, “my flying is impeccable.”

 

Just great. He’ll show them. He knows how to act like a normal person. He’ll get there, fit in, and prove that he’s more than capable than handling himself out there without a mask.

 

 

 

 

It takes a week for everything to be sorted out. It’s a pathetic private school, called the West-Reeve. He looks at Alfred from the corner of his eye, and then he looks back down as they approach it. He’ll never say this aloud, even if he was threatened with death, that maybe the chopper wasn’t his best idea. He doesn’t _want_  any attention on him, and this is definitely going to lead him to being the talk of the school for awhile longer, along with being the son of Bruce Wayne.

 

Alfred lands somewhere on the field, and he gives a small smirk to Damian, as if he knows what Damian is thinking.

 

“Have a good day at school, Master Damian. And please remember—“

 

“I won’t get into any trouble,” Damian grumbles. “And tell Father he’ll pay for this.”

 

“Of course,” Alfred says, neutralizing his features. “Anything else, Master Damian?”

 

Damian says nothing, throwing his backpack on and jumping out. He walks away, the force of the helicopters rotor blowing Damian’s hair all over the place. He grunts.

 

He walks further into the school, and already having memorized the layout of it, he starts off towards the main office building for his schedule.

 

He knows people are watching him, whispering about him, and he ignores it. He keeps a tough front, not making any eye contact as he approaches his destination.

 

He opens the office door, and it isn’t all that busy. He walks towards the front desk, a plump woman behind it, her light brown hair kept in a thin bun. She smiles when she see’s him.

 

“Well hello there! Damian Wayne?” She asks, and before he can nod she’s handing him a folder, chatting. “This is your schedule right here. This is a map of the school, and here is a little booklet of our history. This paper has all the contact information you need. Do you need any help walking to your first class?”

 

Damian sniffs, taking the folder from her. “I’m more than capable.” He pauses, remembering to be nice, and then stutters out, “G-good day. Miss...” he glances at her tag. “Anderson.” He composes himself, and then walks out the door.

 

“Ah...you too, Damian.”

 

He looks down at his schedule, and right then the bell rings. Everyone begins to rush to their classes, and Damian huffs in annoyance at all the frantic children. Pathetic.

 

First class is AP calculus. Boring. Second is 12th grade english. Third, AP Physics. Should be at least a little entertaining. Fourth, AP Economics. Okay. Not too bad. Fifth, Spanish 3. His last class is physical education.

 

His Father reminded him not to show off his intelligence. He doesn’t see the benefit of that, but he’ll obey it. If his Father was right at all, it was about one thing: keeping his secret identity a secret. If that includes being a bit different so that no one can ever put two and two together, then so be it.

 

Damian is independent, not incompetent.

 

His first class is alright. It’s filled with mostly seniors, but there are juniors here and there, which makes his eye twitch. The teacher introduces him to the class, and he later realizes there was a summer homework assignment. He demands he do it, lest he be unfair, even though the first day of school was over a month ago.

 

“You...sure you want to do the summer assignment?” His teacher asks quizzically. Damian nods.

 

“And every assignment thereafter. I’ll have it finished by Friday.”

 

“Um, Damian—“

 

He doesn’t understand why his teacher is looking at him as if he’s crazy, and that realization almost knocks Damian out of his feet. He clears his throat, realizing he’s doing something considered abnormal, and he takes a different route.

 

“Fine,” he says. “Never mind. Just hand me a sheet of what you all have covered.”

 

“The first chapter,” Mister Robert says, blinking repeatedly. “We’re still on the first chapter.”

 

Damian blinks. Of course. He leaves the conversation, unsure of how to even finish it. He sits by his desk, believing that perhaps his Father is more than just right. Damian doesn’t know how to blend in, and that’s dangerous.

 

No one talks to him though, and he wonders if it’s intentional or not. He wipes his face, making sure nothing is on it. There isn’t. He wipes his nose. Nothing.

 

Well then. If no one wants to approach him, then so be it.

 

He grows more and more angry as the day goes by, and no one talks to him at all. During lunch, he sits by himself by the bleachers, watching as a group of friends play frisbee. One guy sucks so bad, it’s as if he’s doing it on purpose. Damian immediately is skeptical, glaring as he bites into his lunch.

 

His next class is Spanish 3. He doesn’t understand why he can’t take Spanish 5, since he’s fluent, but he accepts it, begrudgingly making his way towards the Spanish building. It’s the same routine when the last bell rings: he’s introduced to the class, he sits back down, no one speaks to him, and the bell rings again and he leaves.

 

This time, however, someone is forced to talk to him.

 

“Pick a partner to finish the worksheet.”

 

Damian looks around, glaring as people walk past him. Sure, Father might have been right, but Damian decides that he doesn’t need friends in the first place. They wouldn’t be real, and the less people he bothers to know, the better. That’s the truth.

 

“Jon.” He hears Maestra S say. “Why don’t you pair up with Damian, hm? Make him feel a little more welcome?”

 

Damian looks at the kid his teacher is talking to. It’s the kid that was playing frisbee. The one that sucked. He glowers when the kid looks at him, his face flushed.

 

“Um, Maestra S, I really...”

 

“Gracias,” Maestra S says, walking over to her desk. Damian watches as Jon tells a little black girl something, who in turn nods and looks for a different partner. Damian continues glaring as the boy comes closer.

 

This ‘Jon’ stops on front of Damian. He looks nervous, fidgeting as if he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Damian.

 

He mumbles something.

 

“Excuse me?” Damian says, sending daggers. Jon’s face scrunches, his glasses sliding down, and it looks so familiar Damian freezes in shock.

 

“I said I’d _appreciate_  it if you stopped looking at me like that.”

 

“You...,” Damian trails off, staring at Jon quizzically. What _is_  it? His voice? His face? He can’t pin point it, but it’s familiar, and it’s driving him insane.

 

“I’m Jon,” Jon says, taking a seat beside Damian.

 

“You don’t have to be here,” Damian mumbles, looking down at his worksheet. It isn’t even hard. He can get this done in five minutes. Maybe two.

 

“I do, actually.”

 

“Well, you don’t _want_  to be here. So I’m giving you permission to leave.”

 

“Damian, right?” Jon says. “Maybe if you didn’t look so mad. You were practically telling me to leave with your eyes. How am I supposed to feel welcome?”

 

“No one’s bothered to speak to me,” Damian says. “I figured that was a sign.”

 

“Don’t glower at people, and maybe they’d actually talk to you.”

 

That. That right there. Jon’s voice, his speech. It sounds so familiar.

 

Jon focuses on his worksheet, filling it out. He’s fast. He’s finished the fifth question in under a minute, and then he looks at Damian, and then he stiffens. As if he was caught.

 

“Ah,” he says, looking down at his paper in surprise. “I need help with six.”

 

He doesn’t. Damian knows he doesn’t, but he plays along, looking down at the word.

 

“It means to play.”

 

Jon writes down the answer before Damian finishes the sentence. Damian grows more suspicious. He shouldn’t trust this guy.

 

“Thanks,” Jon mutters.

 

They work alone, despite having to work together. They get through a few more minutes before Jon breaks the silence between them.

 

“So you’re the son of Bruce Wayne?” Jon asks. Damian nods, uninterested. Jon hums. “Oh. That’s cool. I thought you were older, though.”

 

“How old?” Damian asks, glaring again. Jon laughs, which makes Damian splutter.

 

“I don’t know, twenty? You’re in my grade, right?”

 

“I’m a senior,” Damian deadpans. “Eighteen.”

 

Jon turns pink. “Oh. I’m fifteen.”

 

“A _freshman_ ,” Damian asks in disgust. “You thought I was a _freshman_?”

 

“I’m a _sophomore_.” Jon scrunches his nose again. “Sorry, I guess. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

“You did,” Damian hisses. “But I suppose I forgive you. Just this once.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

It’s quiet again.

 

“So why’d you decide to go to school? You were homeschooled before, right?”

 

Damian sighs. “Yes. I was previously homeschooled. My Father thought it’d be best to—“ he stops, re-thinking. “best for me to get out of the house more.”

 

“Huh. I hope you have a good year then.”

 

Damian’s lips part. He thinks he has to say something. He doesn’t know what.

 

“Thank...you.”

 

Jon smiles, his face turning pink again. Damian flushes at that, the familiarity coming back, along with this terrible feeling in his stomach that makes his heart flutter. He doesn’t know how to eradicate it.

 

Why is he talking to him anyway?

 

Class ends soon enough. As he’s packing up, Jon touches his shoulder, and he resists the urge to grab it and flip him over. Instead, he grumbles, “Don’t touch me.”

 

Jon let’s go immediately. Damian’s little machine guns in his stomach finally disappear again. Good.

 

“Sorry,” Jon says, flushing again. He adjusts his glasses. Damian lifts his lip in irritation, the action weird on Jon. It’s as if he isn’t used to the glasses, or finds them irritating. “Just—if you ever need a friend, someone to help you out, you’ve got one.”

 

“Why would I need help?”

 

The question is harsh, enough to make Jon back off, and right away Damian feels bad.

 

“I mean—I probably won’t need it, but that’s considerate of you to say,” Damian rushes out. Why is he doing this? Right. Make friends. Prove to Father he can do this, he’s _responsible_ , can handle himself out in the ‘real world’. With that, Damian calls out to Jon as the boy begins to leave. Jon turns, looking just a bit upset. “I’m not used to this. People willing to assist, or speak to me.”

 

Someone else calls out Jon’s name. He turns, and Damian notices it’s the black girl from earlier. What was her name again? The teacher called her Georgia. Right. Georgia. Jon says something to Georgia, and she looks at Damian with a raised brow, but she reluctantly nods and leaves.

 

“I can tell,” Jon says, as Damian walks toward him, so that they can leave class together. “Guess it comes with being homeschooled, huh?”

 

Damian hesitantly nods. It probably also has something to do with being raised by assassins, but he won’t be adding that aloud.

 

Jon asks him what his next class is, and he offers to walk Damian there. Reluctantly, Damian lets him. When they reach the gym for PE, Jon is sporting a cheeky grin.

 

“I’ll see you around, Damian.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

Jon laughs as if Damian said something funny, and though he’s watching Jon’s retreating figure in disdain, those butterflies are back, and Damian wonders how the hell he’s going to deal with those for the rest of the year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here we go hope you guys enjoy

On the second day of school, with stubbornness that can rival his Father’s, he takes the helicopter. He creates this sort of routine for the rest of the week: go to school, spend the first half of the day alone, watch Jon terribly play some sport at lunch, talk to Jon when the chance comes during Spanish class, and have Jon walk him to P.E. It isn’t too much for him, just enough to get him by, and enough for his Father not to question anything and assume Damian is doing great. 

 

Then. Then of course Jon had to start switching things up.

 

By the second week of school, Jon began meeting him every morning. He’d ditch his friend, Georgia, who he noticed never really seemed to care if she was with Jon or not, which only strengthened Jon’s resolve to change their routine. Jon started talking to him between classes, somehow finding Damian, no matter which route he took, be it the longest or the shortest way to class, Jon was there, joyful as ever.

 

That lasted for two more weeks. That became their routine. Apparently Jon doesn’t like routine, because the bastard changed it _again_ , just as Damian was regaining his footing. Jon made it his mission to find Damian during lunch, and again, no matter where he was, Jon found him. Damian wasn’t sure if he found it comforting or plain annoying. It’s not that having lunch with Jon was _bad_. He just wasn’t used to it. A part of him _liked_  being alone, watching Jon suck at every sport from afar. He only began to realize that maybe he _didn’t_  like being alone when Jon would talk non stop, telling Damian about his life, his friends, his classes, teachers. He can go on and on about TV, but his real passion is reading. He seems to have random facts about everything, obviously a very intelligent boy, but every time Jon noticed he was acting smart, he’d back off again, laughing it off as if he was dumb. Damian pegs it as insecurity, just to make sense of it all. There’s no other explanation for it.

 

That goes for three weeks. That would make it almost two months that he’s known Jon. He never imagined that Jon could change their routine again, but he did, and Damian...doesn’t know what to say.

 

Jon is watching him nervously, biting his lip. Damian blinks, outwardly calm, inwardly freaking out.

 

“Damian?”

 

“It won’t last,” Damian says, heart thudding against his chest. Jon looks at it, as if he can _hear_  it. Damian crosses his arms self consciously. That seems to snap Jon out of it, catching his eyes again.

 

“You don’t know that,” Jon tries to reason. “You never know. My dad told me he never thought he and my mom would ever be together. But look at them now—“

 

“We’re not your parents.”

 

Jon slumps at that. Again, Damian is such a sucker for Jon whenever he looks like that. Damian sighs, frustrated.

 

“You’re too young,” he continues.

 

Jon frowns. “I’m not _too_  young. And I’m a lot more mature than you think.”

 

“No,” Damian says, shaking his head. “You’re not. You’re a little fifteen year old boy—“

 

“ _Almost sixteen_.”

 

“—who’s hung up on a senior. I knew I shouldn’t have let you get too close.”

 

“Just one date,” Jon says, looking at him desperately. “Please. Just one date, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

 

Damian is now stuck. Perhaps it wouldn’t ruin everything if they went on ONE outing. Damian can treat it as if they’re just friends, and Jon can take it however he wants.

 

“Just one?” Damian asks. “And you’ll never ask me again?”

 

“Just one,” Jon repeats.

 

“I’m free tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet you at Rosy’s Ice cream around three. I’m paying.”

 

“Wait, what—“

 

Damian ignores him, walking into the locker room. A part of him is glad this is his last class for the day, so he won’t have to dwell on it with so many people around.

 

Tomorrow is Saturday. It was smart of Jon to ask him on a Friday, in case Damian said no and they had two days of space over the weekend. If Damian said yes, he can ask to meet him sometime DURING the weekend. It’s a bit of a win-win, which Damian secretly applauds Jon for. If only it was someone _else_  Jon had bothered to ask, like his friend Georgia.

 

 _Georgia_. He’ll never admit he was a little jealous of her in the beginning of his and Jon’s friendship. Not that there was anything to be jealous of, because Damian doesn’t like Jon romantically. He never will.

 

 

 

He, as always, finishes his homework by four, along with assignments due weeks from now. He doesn’t understand why all his classmates consistently complain as if they’re being tortured.

 

By ten, he throws his suit on. He doesn’t tell anyone he’s going out to patrol. He knows they’ll eventually find out. They always do.

 

He’s idly walking along a rooftop, occasionally tilting more to his right, just to feel the thrill of _maybe_  falling. He checks empty alleyways, popular banks, sketchy warehouses. There isn’t much going on, and as good as that is, Damian feels a bit bored. Batman must be out too, as well as his adoptive brothers. Gotham doesn’t just go quiet, unless there are too many people out on patrol.

 

Just as he’s done for the night, after two hours of nothing, he hears a woman scream. He smirks, running after the sound. It was pretty distant, but he should get there soon enough. He’ll find her. It takes him thirty seconds to find the deserted street she’s on, but just as he sets eyes on her attacker, someone swoops in, ripping the man off of his victim. Damian watches in anger as Superboy knocks the guy out, with just _one_  punch. He checks on the woman, who’s shaken up but okay, and as Damian stomps over, he overhears that she’s nearby her mom’s house, so she’ll be staying the night there, and she thanks him a ton.

 

She leaves, and Superboy begins to walk towards the asshole. He stops when he notices Damian. He hasn’t seen Superboy in a few weeks, mostly because he himself hasn’t been out much, and even so, Superbly shouldn’t _be_  here.

 

“What are you _doing_?” Damian asks, glowering. “This is _Gotham_. Why do you _bother_  to come here when you’ve got a place of your own!”

 

“A thank you would be nice,” Superboy says, walking towards him instead. Damian scowls, backing away. He’s never been close to Superboy, there always being a good few feet between them. Superboy stops, looking defeated. It’s familiar, the way he slouches his shoulders, but Damian doesn’t pay too much attention to it, distracted.

 

“Thank you?” Damian seethes. “I _had_  it. I always do.”

 

Superboy sighs, strolling towards Damian, casually kicking a pebble. It skips past Damian quickly, the force behind it strong.

 

“You’re welcome,” Superboy says, stopping a foot or two away from him. Damian rolls his eyes. “And can you, for once, appreciate what I do for you?”

 

Damian scoffs. “You? Appreciate what you _do_  for me? Enlighten me, Super _boy_ , what have you done that would require any amount of my _appreciation_.”

 

Superboy growls, his hands turning to fists. “You are the dumbest guy in the world.”

 

“ _Tt_. Amusing,” Damian says. “Now run along kid, go back to daddy and mommy and let the real experts work.”

 

“You’ve got some _nerve_ , Robin. I’ve saved your life countless of times.”

 

“No, what you do is _ruin_  my fun. I’ve never needed your help, I’ve never _wanted_  your help, and I _don’t_  like having you around. _Stop_  coming to Gotham, we don’t need you.”

 

“This isn’t about you!” Superboy yells. “This isn’t about how you feel about me, how confident you are in yourself, this is about _helping_  people.”

 

“Then _help_  me and _stay the fuck out of Gotham_.”

 

Superboy punches his stomach, obviously not too hard, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of him. Damian gasps, just as Superboy is at the midst of apologizing. Damian reaches into his belt, grabbing a batarang, and he throws it at Superboy’s face. Superboy catches it, just as Damian predicted he would, and he’s distracted long enough for Damian to give him a solid kick in the balls. When Superboy’s knees buckle, Damian punches his face. Superboy recovers quickly, grabbing Damian’s arm and twisting him around, locking him in place as he throws another arm around Damian’s throat.

 

“ _Stop_ ,” he hisses harshly into Damian’s ear, and despite everything, everything in the fucking world, Damian shudders. Superboy freezes. Damian fidgets again, pulling at his arm to break free, but Superboy pulls it tighter. Damian stifles a cry out in pain, biting his lip for half a second before schooling his features.

 

“Or what?” He asks, staying still.

 

Superboy hesitates. Damian throws a foot behind him, catching it behind Superboy’s ankle and pulling, causing the super to loose balance. Damian breaks free, elbowing Superboy in the face. He turns, backing away three steps, and takes out a dagger, threateningly holding it out in front of him.

 

“Touch me again,” Damian says, just the slightest bit out of breath, “And I’ll make you _beg_  for death.”

 

“That won’t do anything to me,” Superboy says, rubbing at his jaw. “But you’re right. I won’t touch you again.”

 

They stand, defensive, until Superboy begins to float, flying up into the sky. They still stare at each other, Damian frowning hard, and Superboy finally gives up, flying away.

 

Damian stays tense for a few more seconds, eyes sharp in the sky. When he figures he’s safe, he sags, cradling his stomach. He lets go quickly enough, feeling at his forehead. He didn’t realize he was hit there. It feels bruised. Fuck.

 

There’s a groan. Damian suddenly remembers the guy harassing the woman. He sighs, realizing he’s going to have to deal with him now and call the police. Sure, he doesn’t do this for the praise, but sometimes it feels nice hearing a thank you. He rarely gets one, and so far whenever someone is willing to say it, it’s always Superboy receiving them. It makes Damian mad on to no end.

 

Though, he will admit, the fight did make him feel good. Finally something fun.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh my God,” Jon says, just as Damian walks into the ice cream shop. Damian turns to him, and Jon is somehow right there, right in front of Damian and inspecting the purplish bruise. “What _happened_  to you? Holy crap.”

 

“Fell. Onto the pavement yesterday,” Damian offers as an explanation, and he finds himself seated towards the back of the shop, Jon sat in front of him, looking overly concerned.

 

“You sure? That must’ve been a nasty fall.”

 

“I’m fine,” Damian grumbles, not wanting to be reminded of Superboy. He’s with Jon. And he heard enough with Alfred, and didn’t appreciate his Father’s glares. He’s done being reminded about the stupid bruise.

 

They order their ice cream, and soon enough they’re licking away, Jon blushing all the while. They don’t talk much while they’re eating, and Damian decides that maybe this ‘date’ of theirs isn’t half bad. Minimal talking, good ice cream. He could do this more often.

 

“So,” Jon says, trying for casual. Damian raises an eyebrow, waiting. “Um...I’ve never been here before.”

 

“Hm,” Damian hums, eating the last of his dessert. He frowns, a thought appearing in his head. “What about me interested you?”

 

Jon stutters, unprepared. “I-uh, um. I always thought you were attractive. And...I don’t know. You’re honest. Terribly so, but honest, and I guess that’s what I liked about you. _Like_  about you.”

 

“What caused you to believe I’d say yes?” Damian asks, curious.

 

“Well—nothing. I was mostly afraid you’d punch me and...and get angry with me. I figured you weren’t extremely homophobic, since I’ve talked to you about gay movies and books. You never seemed too bothered by them, so. But I could’ve been wrong. I don’t know. I had almost zero hope you’d say yes. I just wanted to take a chance.”

 

Damian hums again. “Impressive. Not everyone has...the guts, per se, to do what you did.”

 

Jon blushes, flustered. “Oh, um, ah. Okay. Thank...you?”

 

“It’s worth acknowledging,” Damian decides. He begins to stand, nodding at Jon. “Well. This was...delicious. I appreciate you asking me on this date. Have a pleasant rest of your evening.”

 

“You’re leaving? Already?” Jon asks, finishing up his ice cream. He follows Damian out, looking upset. Damian is confused.

 

“We’re not done? I figured an hour would suffice.”

 

“We could,” Jon rubs his arm, looking around, suddenly shy. “I don’t know. We could walk around for a bit. If you want.”

 

“And go where?”

 

Jon shrugs, almost looking exasperated. “No where. Just...going for a walk.”

 

Damian frowns. He _could_  do so. He doesn’t need to go home, or has any other pressing matters. However, he wanted this to be over. This part was easy enough. Now Jon wants to go on a walk? On the other hand, Damian can prove to Jon how uninteresting he really is, and will therefore have Jon realize he isn’t interested in dating Damian at all.

 

“I suppose,” Damian says, lost in thought, “that wouldn’t be terrible.”

 

Jon smiles, biting his lip. The younger boy leads the way. Damian finds himself wanting to take control, but he doesn’t, half a step behind so that it’s obvious Jon is in charge. He figures it’d show respect. Hopefully Jon picks up on it.

 

“This is my first date,” Jon says softly, shoving his hands into his jackets pockets. “I’ve liked people before, y’know, but...you drew me in. I don’t know many people like you. There’s this one guy—“ Jon stops, his features darkening. “But he wants nothing to do with me.”

 

Damian looks down, confused. “Why so?”

 

Jon laughs. “Who knows. He’s always so mean to me, telling me to go away. But I always come back. I don’t know why.”

 

“Perhaps he doesn’t mind your presence,” Damian says thoughtfully. “If you’re able to go back to him.”

 

“Oh, he hates me,” Jon says, and he rubs his jaw, as if remembering something. Damian squints, unsure why, again, something about Jon seems so familiar. “I’m just dumb. I guess I was hoping he’d change his mind.”

 

Damian hums. “Who is he? I‘ll go speak to him.”

 

“No, please don’t,” Jon says, and he’s chuckling again. “Oh God, that would be a sight. You and Ro—“ he stops, eyes widening. “Rory.”

 

Damian narrows his eyes. “So his name’s Rory?”

 

Jon laughs nervously. “Yeah. Anyway, he doesn’t go to our school or anything.”

 

“How do you know him?”

 

Jon blinks. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

 

“I like to know things,” Damian says dryly. They reach a park, and Jon seems grateful.

 

“Let’s go sit under the tree right there.”

 

Damian hesitantly follows. Perhaps this is going too far. They’ve already had the date, took a short stroll, and now Jon wants to sit under a tree with him. Damian, for the first time in his life, feels his palms go sweaty.

 

They sit side by side, their backs against the tree trunk. Damian tilts his head, curious. He isn’t out much during the day, and when he is it’s for something important. There’s a pond nearby, animals and people mingling. Damian’s vaguely intrigued. It’s boring watching others feed ducks, but it’s definitely interesting, if not amusing.

 

“You knew we’d end up here,” Damian says, the revelation a bit of a surprise. He finds he doesn’t mind the slight deceit, it’s almost...charming, in a way.

 

Jon blushes, resting his chin on top of his knees. He plays with the grass, the blades peaking through his fingers.

 

“I guess I’m not as slick as I thought, huh?” Jon asks. He sighs. “I like this park. I go here sometimes, at night or when I’m upset. Just to think. Sit alone. Listen for—“ he pauses. “Listen to birds.”

 

“Cute.” Damian smirks, comfortably leaning back against the tree. He crosses his arms, side eyeing his date.

 

Jon glares at him, lightly elbowing him, but he’s smiling. “Stop, I’m being serious. Do you have any special spots? Back in Gotham?”

 

“No.” Damian watches the children play tag to distract himself, irrationally guilty for the honest statement. “I have no need for such sentimentality.”

 

“Well, it’s not like you _decide_  what is your special place. I guess the spot chooses you, in a way. It’s a feeling that you get, that you can’t help but be drawn to.”

 

Damian tries his best not to turn his nose up at Jon in irritation, uncomfortable with the tenderness in Jon’s voice. He ends up replying with a disgruntled, “ _Tt_.”

 

Jon laughs at the noise. “You’re such an old grump, do you know that?”

 

“So I’ve gathered,” Damian says bitterly.

 

Jon grins. Damian loosens his arms, letting them fall to the ground. He feels, let’s the cold and the softness of the ground soothe him. He isn’t entirely letting his guard down, but he’s showing a bit more of him, and that in all scares the shit out of him.

 

“I understand,” Damian says softly. “You’re explanation. I understand. But I don’t have a special spot.” In other words, he doesn’t _deserve_  one, but there’s no way Jon would ever understand why.

 

“You’ll find one,” Jon says, voice muffled from his knees. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand coming towards him. He doesn’t stop it. He lets Jon rest his hand on top of his own, and it’s warm. Damian’s stomach summersaults, and he holds his breath to help calm his heart. He knows that this would be considered a moment of connection that they’re having, where somehow Jon’s touch is sealing a bond between the two. It’s overwhelmingly intimate for Damian, but he lets Jon break the barrier. He lets Jon squeeze his hand comfortingly, and then keep it there, all that’s unsaid between them filled with the sounds of children’s laughter and the stomping of their feet as they chase one another.

 

 

 

 

The sad thing is, he finds himself reluctantly dating Jon.

 

In truth he should be angry that Jon asked him for another date. The kid _promised_  not to. The real tragedy here is that Damian somehow couldn’t say _no_. And then again. And again. And again.

 

They went out for food in Metropolis most of the time, but sometimes they’d sit at that park, just to sit and talk to one another. Slowly, somehow, Damian started to really _see_  Jon, they both started to really _know_  each other, and before he knew it they were proper boyfriends.

 

He knows that Alfred and his Father have at least _some_  hint of what’s going on. Alfred has seen Jon before, never had a proper conversation with him (courtesy of Damian) but it never stopped Jon from yelling out an embarrassing, “Hi!” to his flustered butler. Yet, every single time, Alfred would have this _smile_ , and Damian knows he knows. As in he knows Jon has to be more than a friend, and soon enough his Father will know, and Damian isn’t sure he’s ready for that.

 

Hell, perhaps Jon _is_  the perfect boyfriend for Damian, because the truth is, they _both_  don’t know what they’re doing.

 

Jon’s currently holding Damian’s hand, his head on Damian’s lap. He’s rambling about _something_ , Damian isn’t paying much attention, and Jon must sense that, because he sits up, grabbing Damian’s jaw.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Jon says, a small smirk gracing his face, “I’m right here.”

 

Damian blinks. He searches Jon’s face, his boyish features. His crooked glasses. The blue in his eyes, the pink of his lips. The tint of red on his cheeks. His soft brows.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Damian says honestly.

 

Jon furrows his brows, sitting up. He leaves one arm wrapped around a knee, looking a little nervous.

 

“With what?”

 

Damian gestures between the two of them. “This. Us.”

 

Jon bites his lip, looking off to his side. “I don’t think anyone does, Damian. I think we decide what we want to do. What our pace is. There isn’t a set of _rules_.”

 

“Well perhaps there should be,” Damian says bitterly. He falters when Jon winces.

 

“I meant...” Damian sighs. “I really don’t know what I’m doing. If I’m even doing it well.”

 

Jon chuckles softly, running his fingers through Damian’s hair. Damian pulls a face, but he stays put, pointedly not slapping Jon’s hand away. Then, suddenly, Jon kisses Damian’s cheek. Damian’s face burns instantly, the blush covering him head to toe.

 

“Don’t worry,” Jon says, settling back down onto Damian’s lap. Damian almost bristles, feeling it unfair that the kiss had barely any impact on Jon. “Whatever we’re doing, it’s working.”

 

 

 

It’s a warm Saturday night. Currently November, just past Thanksgiving. It’s always worse just after the holidays, where criminals remember that their lives _do_  suck and family and friends don’t matter. Damian likes these kinds of days, because it means that there’s finally going to be _something_  for him to do.

 

However, it requires a lot of patience. So Damian waits, perched on top of a building as usual. Occasionally he jumps around, hoping to catch something. When two hours pass and all he’s done is prevent another person from jay-walking he thinks he’s done for the night.

 

That is, until something whooshes past him. It’s a blur of red, blue, but he knows those colors all too well. It’s Superboy, back in _his_  city. Damian growls to him, looking behind him to see if he can tell where Superboy was heading off to. The blur takes a sharp right not too far off, and before Damian can really think about the _stupidity_  of it all, he follows, anger hot in his wake.

 

When he reaches the building that Superboy was last seen at, the kid is gone. Deep down Damian knew he wouldn’t be able to catch up. His anger and resentment for the guy is out of control. There’s just something about him that’s so _irritating_.

 

Exhausted and a bit furious, Damian starts to head home. He has a date with Jon tomorrow, so he should at least get in a few hours of sleep before doing his morning workout. Two minutes in, Damian suddenly senses that someone is following him. He doesn’t know for how long, but he’s realized it, and he goes for the building across from him. He leads towards a different direction for a minute, and then he purposely climbs onto the roof of the taller buildings. He runs towards the middle of the roof, and then he finally stops moving entirely. He turns, no one in sight. He gives the person ten seconds, and then he crosses his arms.

 

“I know you’re out there.”

 

He waits for another six. Slowly, Superboy comes into view. He rises from where he was hidden, and then he sets his feet on the ground, walking towards Robin. Damian should’ve known that it was Superboy following him. The last time they spoke was weeks ago. They can never go for long without communicating in someway. Or, rather, Superboy can’t. Damian’s more than happy to go on for the rest of his life without running into Superboy.

 

“What do you want?” Damian asks, hand already reaching into his belt. “A rematch?”

 

“No,” Superboy says, frozen a few feet away. Damian falters at the voice, the sound somehow making his heart squeeze in fondness. He stomps it away, taking a physical step back. He stands with his chest puffed out, hands by his side, defensive. Superboy continues. “I wanted to apologize for what I did. It wasn’t right or fair.”

 

“I can handle myself,” Damian spits out. “You aren’t as indestructible as you believe.”

 

“That isn’t—God, Robin, you _always_  do this.”

 

“ _What_?” Damian hisses. “What do I possibly do? The last time I checked, this is _my_  city, and you’re trespassing.”

 

“I was trying to _apologize_ ,” Superboy says, exasperated. He strides closer, and Damian jumps back, batarang already in hand and aimed. Superboy stops, but he somehow looks impossibly more annoyed. “I’m _sorry_. Can you accept the apology?”

 

“To what, ease your conscience?” Damian snarls. After a few seconds of silence, Damian realizes that he’s right. Superboy is apologizing, but for _himself_. Damian smirks, tucking his batarang away. “ _Tt_. Maybe later.”

 

Superboy tilts his head, looking almost curious. “Wait, did you just—“

 

Damian takes a few steps back, hand already on his grappling hook. “Yeah. Don’t come back Superboy, then I’ll forgive you.”

 

“No, the noise—“

 

“Catch you never,” Damian mumbles, flying off into the night.

 

 

 

 

“Off already, Master Damian?” Alfred asks, his expression not fooling anyone. Damian nods, ignoring the heated gaze of his Father.

 

“Yes. I agreed to go out with a friend.”

 

“Ah, is it that Jon fellow? Seems a nice boy,” Alfred says casually, but his eyes have this glint, and he’s so obviously trying to hide a smile, it’s almost pathetic. Damian glares at the look.

 

“He is,” Damian says coolly. He shrugs his jacket on, barely giving a passing glance to Bruce. They don’t speak to each other, and Alfred doesn’t add anything more. Damian leaves, oddly guilty.

 

He meets Jon at a small coffee shop they haven’t tried out yet, but when he walks in he see’s Jon sulking in the back, his hoody up. Damian frowns, walking over. Instead of taking his usual spot across from Jon, he sits next to him, his side pressed against Jon’s warm body.

 

Jon doesn’t speak, arms folded onto the table and head in between them. Damian notices the coffee next to him, and he takes it. When he takes a sip it’s cold.

 

Oh no. Jon’s upset.

 

Damian pulls at Jon’s hoody, and it reveals the tussled brown hair underneath. Jon continues to ignore him, not even twitching. Damian leans down, seeing where his boyfriends eyes are. His head is facing Damian’s way and Damian finds his glasses slipping down his nose, Jon’s eyes fixed on the table.

 

He doesn’t know why Jon’s upset, but it isn’t often, and on the rare occasions he is upset Jon is quite elastic—he jumps back, over it within minutes. Right now, this is an emotion Damian hasn’t seen on Jon yet, let alone deal with. Luckily, Damian is a stubborn one, so he stays, lying his head down onto the table as well, eyes fixed on Jon’s downcast one’s. Eventually, Jon relents, gaze flicking up to Damian’s face. Damian offers a small smile. Jon sighs.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers, eyes glassy. “I’ve just—I’ve been having a pretty shitty weekend.”

 

“That so?” Damian whisper back. Underneath the table he takes Jon’s hand. “Has something happened?”

 

“Not really,” Jon says, squeezing Damian’s hand. “Just—remember the guy I was telling you about? Rory?”

 

Damian hesitantly nods, his cheek rubbing against the cool surface. “I recall you mentioning he reminded you of me.”

 

Jon bitterly scoffs. “Definitely _not_. But I talked to him yesterday. You know, he has this stupid attitude. I can’t say anything without him having to say something snarky back.”

 

Jon sits up, huffing. Damian follows, concerned.

 

“How do you know him again?”

 

“Church,” Jon mumbles. He shakes his head, continuing on with his rant. “I think I’m finally done trying to be friends with him.”

 

“Good riddance,” Damian says, enunciating it with a nod of his head. “You deserve better.”

 

“It’s not just that,” Jon says. “I don’t even know _why_  he doesn’t like me. I try my best to be a good person and yet—and yet it always amounts to—amounts to absolutely _nothing_.” Jon covers his face with his palms, breathing harshly.

 

How does Damian make him feel better? Some like physical contact, and Jon is definitely more of a physical person than Damian is, so he rubs Jon’s back, hoping it will make him feel better. Jon quivers lightly, and then he full on shudders, and then he’s crying into his hands.

 

No, no no no. Damian needs to stop this. How though? How can he get Jon to stop crying?

 

“Send me his address Jon,” Damian says, his expression hard set. “I’ll have him regret ever speaking to you in such a manner.”

 

“No,” Jon says, the noise muffled by his hands, and he cries harder. Damian stiffens. What now? He has no other ideas, or at least non violent ones, which Jon obviously doesn’t want.

 

Damian looks at his hand on Jon’s back, and then he wraps it around him. Slowly, he goes in for a hug, and then Jon begins to grow pliant, and he loosens up, turning to hug Damian back. He cries at Damian’s neck, and Damian surprisingly doesn’t mind the tears soaking his shirt. After a minute or so, Jon begins to stop, coming down to a few erratic breathes. He slowly leans back, lifting his head to look at Damian.

 

“Sorry,” Jon croaks, his beautiful, crooked glasses defining the redness around his eyes. Damian shakes his head, subconsciously lifting a hand to caress Jon’s jaw.

 

“There’s no need for an apology,” Damian says, wiping at Jon’s tears. “I heard that it’s healthy to express your emotions.”

 

Jon laughs, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. As disgusting as it is, it’s the second most adorable thing Damian’s ever seen. “You say that like you don’t have any.”

 

Damian half smiles, glad that he at least made Jon laugh. There’s a deep pang in his chest however, one he ignores, that whispers that he doesn’t, that he never will. That Jon doesn’t see him for who he really is: a monster.

 

They stay close, entwined, until Jon leans in, their lips meeting for a much awaited first kiss. Damian realizes that maybe Jon was right about there being no rules, about going their own pace, because he finds that it really is only about them, and right now, he wouldn’t have wanted this any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? What do you want to see next? Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long! And I'm so sorry if the writing seems a bit odd--I'm in the midst of changing my writing style because I...basically don't like how I write and am still trying to figure it out. I know I'm not a perfect story teller/writer, but I hope this isn't TOO bad or boring. 
> 
> ALSO--I made Metropolis and Gotham really close together because that is just most convenient to me and makes the most sense??? Idk I was googling stuff and I got a lot of different answers so I just made my own shit up. Bear with me, I don't read the comics (literally read less than thirty probably) soooo sorry if a lot of things aren't canon!
> 
> Besides all of that...enjoy.

Insecurity never dwelled Damian. There are moments where he‘s not satisfied; where he knows he can perform much more efficiently. There are certain aspects of himself he knows he can sharpen, soften, or remove entirely. It’s just that he’s never considered himself, for lack of a better phrase, _hung up_ on those perceived imperfections. He was more disappointed than anything else, yet at the moment what he feels isn't disappointment. He's insecure, scared even, of something entirely out of his control. He feels vulnerable, left entirely to depend on just a fragile belief that Jon won’t hurt him. _Leave_ him. He never willingly gave Jon this much power. It suddenly happened, startled him one day as they were lying on Damian's bed and Jon was going off again on how much his dog annoys him and he can’t wait until his mother decides to make her delicious pear cake that Damian just _has_ to try before Christmas, all the while drawing patterns along Damian's palm. Damian barely paid him much attention, confused by the sudden swell of emotion caught at the base of his throat, Jon's steady finger leaving trails of tingles along his increasingly sweaty palm. Jon didn't notice, too engrossed with himself to notice the epiphany. In that moment they were in two different worlds, Damian all too aware of how easy it would be for Jon to leave him; to not notice the hurt he can inflict on someone who once felt so sure that nothing, no one, can hurt him anymore than he would like them to. 

Logically Damian has an understanding of how he has gotten so attached. Damian's social circle (or lack thereof) consisted of either family or masked teammates, one of which is forbidden to have such romantic relations with and the other requires a literal unmasking that no one is prepared to do. Jon is the only person he has been able to reveal himself to in a much more intimate way. Though he still wears a mask, he is showing more of himself than he would bother to if he were around Jon as Robin. Robin does not let anyone in. Robin does not _want_ to let anyone in. Damian is willing, and he did, and now he must suffer the consequences of not having full control over their relationship--over his emotions he never knew he was capable of having. 

 _Focus_. Batman sent him to look out for a white van, not to ponder his relationship. 

It must be somewhere between midnight and one. Batman sent him here about half an hour ago, stating that he was preoccupied with other villains at the moment but needed an extra pair of eyes for a previous suspicion he meant to look deeper into. He explicitly stated that this was not something Damian needed to get tangled in; _just watch for a white van_ he said, and to notify him when it passes and where is heads off to. It's a stupid idea, seeing as there's no point in being notified about something he won't have time to chase down. Would he like Robin to follow the van? He didn't specify but it seems like a harmless task. If Damian feels up to it, of course. He needs to sleep soon, lest he get no sleep and have no energy to go on his date with Jon as originally planned. Jon wouldn't be too thrilled to find Damian sleeping on him for a third time. If only Jon knew just how exhausted Damian can be. It's not Jon's fault, which Damian is fully aware of, which makes him feel all the more guilty when just a few days ago he lied through his teeth and explained that he stayed up doing homework the whole night. As if he would waste that much energy on something as pathetic as three chapters of _The Whisper of the Trees_ and problems sixteen to thirty eight in his calculus book. He had those finished last _week_. 

Another vehicle drives by. He follows its white complexion, his mind still stuck on Jon. A van, the only white van he has seen tonight. Damian furrows his brows, standing quickly when he realizes it is _the_ van his father was talking about. It rounds a corner, heading for a highway unusually fast, and unwillingly he takes a run for it. He flies and jumps and runs past buildings and pedestrians, catching the tail end of a truck heading the same direction. He checks the time. 1:38. Should he contact Batman? And what is he going to do when the truck goes the opposite direction of where his target is going? He inwardly blames Jon for the lack of thought into his actions but deep down he knows the boy has nothing to do with it. 

Unsurprisingly the truck begins to exit before the van does and Robin has to make a quick decision to expose himself as he decides which vehicle to jump onto. Hopefully he doesn’t alert the (assumed) criminals in the van. He wishes he brought his beautiful motorcycle along with him but alas, he will need to work with what he has at the moment. He jumps and sets a grappling hook onto the top of a Coca Cola semi truck. He predictably slams against it, beginning to slide away from the strong winds due to the trucks speed. He grits his teeth, tightening his grip and climbing to the roof as quickly as possible. He should probably alert Batman by now. He's mildly surprised Batman hasn't bothered to contacted him yet—Damian shakes his head, focusing on the task at hand. He hopes he hasn't lost the van. He does a quick search, heart still racing from the jump between moving cars. He lets out a breath when he finds the van, internally embarrassed of how out of breath he is. He hasn't done a chase like this in what feels like ages. He glances up when the semi truck passes a guide sign, in gigantic white letters the sign reading 52 METROPOLIS 2 MILES. Great. What does Batman want to do with a van heading for Metropolis of all places?

The van begins to exit before the semi truck does. Damian eyes the cars around him, shooting another grappling hook onto a similar semi truck sporting a Walmart sign. He jumps and swings. A car swerves and beeps at him as he crosses the distance. He adjusts his grip, slamming against a moving truck for the second time. He climbs, wanting the van in his sights, hoping that the beeping didn't alert the people in the van. He finds them far ahead, already taking a right. What was he thinking following a vehicle _out_ of Gotham? He’s growing too distracted, unpredictable nowadays. He needs to get his focus back on track. 

He leaps off the semi truck at a stoplight, quick to look for a dark spot in such a bright city. Following the vague direction the van was going, he stumbles upon it not too far off. Hiding instinctively, he manages to catch the sight of three men climbing out, suspiciously parked in front of a closed building. It must almost be two in the morning by now. Batman still hasn't contacted Damian, nor has Damian contacted him. Perhaps Batman already knew Damian would do something like this. Damian perks when four more men rush out of the building, holding bags and wearing masks. He twitches, feeling the need to do something, and then and there a sharp alarm sounds, loud and shrill, causing Damian to flinch in discomfort for half a second. 

"Come on!" A man says, his voice deep and startled, ushering the others into the vehicle.

Robin thinks of his options. Batman specifically said he didn't want Damian involved, just a damn _time_ and _place_ , but he can't just sit idly and watch these men rob a--he squints, then tuts when he realizes it's a bank. How predictable. Swiftly, he throws two batarangs, flattening two tires. He only has a moment to question whether or not that was the best decision, seeing as now it's obvious Batman is on their tracks. The engine starts and they begin to drive away but they quickly realize two of their tires are completely flat. The alarm is still sounding, the police on their way, and the criminals have no choice but to flee. As they begin to pile out one by one, bags in their hands, Damian counts seven in total as they scatter in multiple different directions. Questionable, but perhaps having prepared for a situation like this they agreed to meet up somewhere else beforehand. Damian can't let them get away though, despite the part of him that reminds him that his father asked him not to interfere. He darts for the three men going south, almost tripping over his feet when there's that specific _whoosh_ ing of the wind. He grinds his teeth, his fists clenching, and he doesn't bother to look behind him as he pulls down two of the slowest men on earth, throwing the third off balance. They're heavily out of breath, barely able to fight Damian back. It's an easy task to subdue them all, and he doesn't find it the least bit difficult as he drags them back to their van, where Superboy and three other men are tied up. Damian rolls his eyes, tossing the men, their bodies slamming against the doors. 

" _Robin_?" The teenaged boy splutters. 

Damian bends down, narrowing his eyes as he yanks one of the men's masks off. He drowsily looks up at Damian, attempting a scowl. Robin lightly slaps him, hoping to wake him up a bit more, before roughly seizing his chin, forcefully pursing the man's lips. Brunet. Brown eyes. Recently trimmed hair. Decent dental care. No peculiar scent, or sign of drugs in his system. He then pulls a glove off, inspecting the mans hands. Manicured. Hardly any dirt underneath the nails. 

" _Robin_."

"What are you up to?" Damian mumbles, letting go of the mans hand. He then grips his hair, pulling the criminals head back. He groans lightly, pathetically, before passing out completely. Damian tilts his head, leaning in closer to inspect. Odd. 

"Ah, sorry but—"

He's grasped by the waist, then hoisted upwards into the sky. He blinks, surprised as he looks at the increasingly small people beneath him, as well as the police cars arriving on scene. He furrows his brows, nudging at Superboy pathetically out of habit. He can't afford to let a pathetic quarrel distract him from what's important, however, so he remains focused on memorizing the guys features—as well as the license plate on the van. More convenient than wasting time searching for it later, anyhow. 

The moment Superboy drops Robin onto a nearby roof—predictably—Robin crouches and rolls before standing fully. He rolls his shoulders, still annoyed with the fact that Superboy _touched_ him, but he makes no comment. Instead he tries to think of a plan of what to do next. He knows Batman will have questions when he arrives home, but explaining what just happened in person sounds more appealing than hiding behind a comm. He'll wait, then, for the importance of keeping his dignity. Of course. 

"So," Superboy says, Damian twitching irritably in response when he's reminded of who he is with, and more specifically _where_ he is at. "What exactly brings you to Metropolis, if you don't mind me asking. Since, y'know, I guess it's only okay to cross borders when _you_ do it."

Damian doesn't need to explain himself. Staring Superboy down, he thinks of just leaving, perhaps suffering Superboy following him for a minute or two, before ultimately being left alone. He starts to turn left, but just as he blinks Superboy is in front of him, huffing and puffing like a damn child. Damian can't help but think about what type of person Superboy must be. Having Superman as a father—though technically not publicly stated, but one would have to be brain dead to not admit that they are most definitely father and son—with a father like Superman, so self-righteous and arrogant it makes Damian's mouth taste bitter, how spoiled must this child be? No, how _coddled_ must he had been, to have such a personality that would allow him to think he can just wonder into anyone's territory with no consequences? To believe that throwing a hissy fit would solve all his problems?

"No, you don't get to leave just because you _want_ to, Robin. I'm done being bullied by you. Tell me why you're all the way over here, in _Superman's_ city, rather than your own _filthy_ one?"

 _A snobby little brat_ , is what Superboy is. 

“Get out of my way.” 

“Or what, huh?” 

Damian blinks slowly. He raises an eyebrow, amused with Superboy’s sudden boldness. Superboy seems just as shocked, but he keeps his feet planted, his nose upturned and pinched in a way that reminds Damian that he needs to get home. Unwilling to give in, he pretends to dive towards his right. Then he goes left, rolling and flipping until he’s at the edge of the roof, shooting a grappling hook onto another building. He flies off quickly, already calculating which way would be best to get home. Then he’s being grabbed, yanked away and thrown on top of a different building. He lands smoothly, of course, but it doesn’t stop red hot blood to course through his veins. He didn’t pack much tonight into his utility belt, which he knew at the time would be the most foolish mistake he’s made in months. Left with a couple more pathetic batarangs, Damian unsheathes his dagger. 

Superboy looks at it, his brows furrowed in anger. 

“You always have to make things so _complicated_.” 

At that, Damian stiffens. “ _Pardon_? Did you—“ Always, how does Superboy always manage to aggravate Damian the most? He can’t even think straight! “Leave me _be_ , Superboy.” 

“Is it really all that hard to—“ 

A gun shot. They both turn their heads, the direction being where they just were—where the van is, with the police officers. Damian is the first to react, both of them arrving on scene simultaneously. One of the police men have been shot, groaning as he writhes on the ground. The two other officers speak at once, but they point in the same direction, and Damian follows it. He catches sight of the running criminal, and just as before it doesn’t take long before he catches up. He grabs hold of him, pulling him back and slamming him onto the ground. Damian then straddles him, ripping the mask off. 

The mans eyes are glazed over, unfocused, and he looks just about as mundane as the last guy—nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing that can suggest that he’s some average criminal, or poor individual. 

“Name,” Damian grits, hoping to get some sort of information out of the man before he passes out like the other one. 

There’s a cough in response. Then he mumbles something, his face straining, fighting against something. 

“ _Name_.” 

“U-unimportant,” the man rasps, beginning to shake. “She-she _took_ us.” 

He groans sharply, his body convulsing. “Money...fund her purpose...Miss _Match_ —“ 

He falls limp.

Damian realizes that they don’t pass out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now the ball is starting to roll. Hopefully you guys like where this heads, but if you guys have any suggestions/ideas/or even small cute scenes you want to see, I’m totally open! Y’all can message me on tumblr @happydamijon and if I can, I’ll try to incorporate it into the story! Hopefully you guys liked this short, boring chappie but there should be more to come!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright the ball is starting to roll with this one. Hopefully you guys like this chapter!

 

Damian gently lifts the man up, figuring dragging a dead body would only be disrespectful. He walks along the dark road, sighing as he sets the corpse down by one of the police vehicles once he nears it. Maybe he should have just listened to Batman.

He waits to see what Superboy has to say when the boy is suddenly standing next to him—Superboy was conversing with the police man, after all. There could be vital information.

“One of the policemen got spooked and accidentally shot their colleague,” Superboy says, rubbing his arm. “That’s how the other guy was able to get away. Did you catch him?”

Damian tilts his head toward his right and Superboy follows the gesture, frowning. Damian swallows. “And what of the injured officer?”

“Flew him over to the nearest hospital,” Superboy says. He folds his arms. “Look, Robin—“

“I should be heading home. You won’t be seeing me from now on.”

“Wait—“

Damian ignores him. As always.

 

Two men dead out of the seven. Both seemingly drugged. Well, he would believe that if the actions of the man Damian just spoke to resembled any type of drug effect he knows about. Mind control? Perhaps a mix of both. How? He also said something about mismatching. To fund _her_ purpose. Or destiny. Someone took these men for a specific plan. Does Batman know this? He needs to get back to Batman, let him know of his findings ASAP.

The thought of two men dying in his hands in one night plagues him as he heads home. He’s unsure as to why. He’s seen death, been near death, has personally delivered it with his own _hands_. Yet, the thought of those men...so unnecessary, _unfair_. Seems so at the very least. No one can replicate the fight within that man, giving as much as he can to fight and give Damian as much information as possible. Damian fists his hands, his teeth grinding as he nears the Batcave. He did not die in vain, and Damian will make sure of that.

His Fathers voice is surprisingly calm when Damian catches sight of him, being patched up by Alfred.

“Damian.”

“Father.”

“Master Damian,” Alfred says, his voice light as he snips a stitch. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d make it home for the night or stay behind in Metropolis.”

Damian glares. “I see you two have resorted to an invasion of my privacy.”

“Now—“

“It was necessary,” Bruce says gruffly. “You were meant to get back to me and you never did. It was only reasonable to check your location. Be grateful I didn’t go after you myself.”

“ _Tt_. Worried for me? As if I'm incapable of protecting myself.”

“So what was it then, Master Damian, that kept you occupied for so long?” Alfred asks innocently, folding his hands behind his back. Bruce rolls his shoulder experimentally. They both stare expectantly.

He furrows his brows at their expectant gazes, as if they already know the answer. “The van—“

“Damian,” Bruce begins, his expression stoic. “I understand the importance of...companionship. I won’t deny you that. However, if it _ever_ interferes with our work again...” he pauses, trying hard to keep from glaring too intensely. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Damian narrows his eyes. His father has undoubtedly assumed something, but he isn’t sure what. “The reason why I was in Metropolis—“ 

“I know who you’re with, Damian. I know what he means to you,” Bruce says. After a moment of hesitation, he adds, “I know _what_ he is.”

The conversation is nowhere near the original topic Damian meant to discuss. He isn’t sure if he’s exhausted or in slight shock from earlier events but he can’t seem to grasp what Bruce is trying to say. He looks at Alfred for help, because if they are going to get anywhere in a peaceful manner, it would have to be Pennyworth speaking. Of course Alfred seems to understand the desperate look Damian is sending him and clarifies, his expression all too perfectly neutral as he says, “He would have found out eventually. You wouldn’t have been able to keep Jon a secret for long.”

Damian’s stomach drops, his skin heating in a way that hasn’t happened since he was a child. He clenches his fist, bracing himself before he tips over. “You _told_ him about Jon?”

Not that he and Alfred ever had a heart to heart about his not-so-secret boyfriend, but Damian figured that there was a certain level of _trust_ and _understanding_ that went unsaid between them, specifically that Damian _would let Bruce know_. Alas, there are reasons why Damian has trust issues. Not that he’s dramatic, either.

“I sent you to school to teach you about _blending in_. Not exposing your secrets the moment you get close to someone!” Bruce rubs his forehead. “I should have known something like this would happen.”

“He doesn’t know anything. I’m not a fool,” Damian insists, his voice low. He wants to say more, maybe say something hurtful, but he’s quick to get a grip of himself. There are more important matters at hand, such as sleep. As well as the date with Jon tomorrow. Maturely, he walks away, uninterested in furthering their conversation. Bruce can find out about the van on his own if he’d like, anyway.

He searches through his suit in his room. It’s comfortably silent, the only sound being the rustling of the fabric, and his quiet hum of triumph when he finds the tracker and destroys it. This wouldn’t be the first time this has happened but it better be the last. He mentally makes a list of what he has to do before going to bed. Taking a quick rinse, brushing his teeth—writing down the license plate from the van. He groans, unable to believe that he managed to forget it.

He ponders silently. Should he bother being pissed? He needs to think of Jon. He needs sleep. Right. Sleep. He can stress later.

 

 

His alarm goes off three hours after he settled in bed. He shuts if off, trusting his body to wake him up in under an hour.

 

 

He shouldn’t have slept in this late.

There’s a ringing. He rubs his bleary eyes, searching for his phone. He stumbles toward his desk, his discarded suit sliding onto the floor as he grabs the blaring device, answering the call with a low, “Hello?”

“Damian?” Jon asks from the other side. “Are you okay? Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

He swallows, pinching the bride of his nose. Right.

“What time is it?” He checks his phone after asking the question. One twenty.

“One,” Jon replies immediately, his voice worried. “Are you alright? You sound—“

“I slept in,” he says, walking back to his bed. He keeps his phone between his cheek and shoulder, perfecting the pillows and sheets. “Sorry, I never would have allowed myself to sleep in after my alarm if I had known—“

“It’s fine,” Jon interrupts. “Gosh. I thought something happened to you. I was, like, this close to calling the police.”

Damian fixes the covers, grunting in response. He tidies the rest of his room, heading off to the bathroom when he’s finished.

“We can meet up some other day if you want,” Jon says, but he isn’t good at hiding the disappointment in his tone. Damian puts the phone on speaker, splashing his face with cold water. He shakes his head, looking at his face in the mirror as he pats it dry with a white hand towel.

“No,” he says, glaring at his reflection. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

The conversation is half hearted from then on. When Jon finally hangs up Damian stands in the shower, letting the water run down his body, warm and smooth as it glides along his skin. He doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel _himself_. He isn’t excited to meet up with Jon, despite the boy being the highlight of his day most of the time. He somehow allowed himself to sleep after his alarm, which is preposterous, seeing as any other day, no matter how little sleep, he would never have allowed such a decision to hardly cross his _mind_ , let alone actually consider.

He leaves without saying goodbye to Alfred, revving his motorcycle in a way only assholes do before heading off.

 

He zooms past pedestrians and vehicles, his eyes focused on his surroundings but his mind somewhere else. More specifically, last night. It must be his heroic streak tickling, the itch to _solve_ something, to _help_ people, overwhelming. Being distracted won’t help anyone, he reminds himself. He needs to take it one step at a time. Right now, the first step is keeping Jon unaware of Damian’s double life.

 

 

He catches sight of Jon first, sitting alone in their undesignated-but-technically-their-spot towards the back of the coffee shop. As Damian gets closer, their eyes happen to lock, and just as Jon beams everything Damian has been carrying on his shoulders dissipates, the extra weight shredding in an instant.

“Hey,” Jon says when Damian takes a seat. “You okay?”

Damian closes his eyes. For now, he can ignore the voice within him telling him he should be working on the case, not wasting his time going on dates. For now he can let go of the two men that died in his hands, their families probably receiving the news right now.

“I see you’ve gotten over your irrational distaste of coffee, though you could have gone for a better choice rather than a...cappuccino?” Damian says instead of responding. Jon tilts his head, skeptical, but let’s it go, eyeing his drink as if he forgot what he ordered.

“It’s not irrational,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “There’s just no point in me drinking coffee. Well. I mean. It’s not that I need the energy or anything.”

Damian smiles softly at the sight of Jon’s scrunched nose, his brows furrowed in a way that makes him look both frustrated and confused. He leans in and gives him a quick peck on the lips, causing his boyfriends expression to clear. Then he blushes.

“Ah...” Jon says, skin growing more and more flushed by the second. “That won’t change my mind about coff—“ he then abruptly stops talking, turning his head to look straight at the TV a few feet away from them, the channel set on a news station that Damian can barely hear. It becomes more clear when he bothers to focus on the movement of the woman’s lips on screen.

“...were found dead on scene near Palmer and Corke street just last night. One of the police men had been shot, apparently flown into a hospital by Superboy. The policeman told news reporters this morning that he owes his life to Superboy, and doctors agree that if it weren’t for the super, the patient could have died. He’s currently in stable condition and is believed to have a full recovery. Thanks Superboy! Now, apparently children these days are less likely to enjoy board games. Leading experts have found that...”

Damian resists rolling his eyes, but the mention of Superboy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Jon clears his throat. “Well that’s um. Terrible to hear. I’m glad Superboy saved that police officer.”

Damian dryly chuckles. “Sure. Must be nice for him to get the attention.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence. Jon drums his fingers against the table, off beat, nervously. Damian frets. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything at all. This is Metropolis after all; they love their little supers.

“Should we—“

“You don’t think he deserves the attention?” Jon asks, adjusting his glasses. Damian holds his breath. Dang it.

He thinks carefully, knowing he’s probably treading dangerous waters. The last thing he needs is a boyfriend obsessed with Superboy. “No. I didn’t say that.”

“Then what did you say?”

If he tries hard enough, he can most likely get himself out of this conversation. He weighs out the pros and cons. He doesn’t want to insult Jon, or start an argument. He’s already had a terrible night. He should drop it. He’s too old for this anyway.

“Nevermind,” he says, breaking the tension. “It isn’t important.”

It really isn’t.

 

 

 

He never saw himself as one of the kids one would find making out with their significant other behind the bleachers, but then again, he never thought himself as boyfriend material in the first place. Yet. Here he is. Here _they_ are.

Jon’s lips are soft, experienced. He doesn’t know who else Jon has made out with, if he has made out with someone before, but his kisses are too perfect to be considered virgin lips. Damian hasn’t had many experiences in that realm either, hardly any, but surely more than _Jon_. He’s clearly being proven wrong by the second, unfortunately, as he begins to fall behind Jon’s timely rhythm and then releases him to take a breath.

“Who else have you kissed?”

Jon breathes softly, his eyes almost glazed behind his glasses, sparkling. “Huh? Uh. Well. Not many.”

Damian glares. He partially wishes Jon wasn’t currently sitting on his lap, innocent as a dove. It’s distracting. It’s inconvenient, and all around unnecessary. He finds himself wrapping his arms tighter around Jon’s waist.

“Who taught you?” Damian asks lowly, pecking just underneath the boy’s lip. His boyfriend shakes his head, pushing Damian back.

“No one. I just learn quickly,” he says, climbing off of Damian. He watches Jon grab his backpack, pulling out a folder and a pencil pouch before offering a confused Damian an explanation for his abandonment. “Sorry, just remembered I have to finish these last few math problems. This weekend was hectic.”

_You don’t have to tell me twice_ , Damian almost says. He keeps his mouth shut. Last night he dreamt of that dying man’s last words. He woke up shaking at around three in the morning. He hasn’t had a week of sleep since then. He’ll need to go on patrol tonight, no exceptions, because the only way he’ll feel just the least bit satisfied is if he solves this puzzle. It shouldn’t be too difficult, especially since Batman—Bruce— _father_ , hasn’t asked him once about the vehicle. Damian hasn’t bothered to inform him either. He isn’t sure if he’s digging himself into a deeper whole, or perhaps prolonging the process by keeping his findings hidden, but he has enough confidence in himself to solve this case on his own. He doesn’t need anybody, let alone Batman.

The ringing of the bell almost makes Damian jolt in surprise, unaware of how deep in thought he was. Jon groans just the slightest, mumbling something about having two problems left, before he’s packing his stuff. They leave one another with a kiss goodbye, Damian squinting up at the sun when he exits their shady sanctuary. As he walks to the locker room for his last class of the day, Logan Bennett Jones—the most annoying human being he can possibly rival _Superboy_ —wraps an arm around Damian’s shoulder, shaking him as they walk.

“What’s up, Wayne?”

“Now your brother is next.”

Logan laughs, once again taking Damian’s threats as a dark sense of humor. Which, Damian understands, is only half true—being that he finds the threats amusing while also undoubtedly willing to follow through. Damian side eyes the fellow eighteen year old when he pokes at Damian’s side. Damian has gotten a lot better at accepting certain amounts of physical contact, especially since dating Jon.

“Sure,” Logan says, using his other hand to scratch at his scalp, his dirty blond hair disheveled. “What is it you’re going to do this time? Mutilate? Stab to death? Hang?”

Damian shrugs his arm off. “Poison.”

He quickens his pace out of habit but he isn’t surprised when Logan catches up, even opening the doors to the locker room for him. Damian doesn’t thank him.

“Aw, no gory story to go along with it?”

Damian reaches his locker, unlocking it and quickly grabbing his gym clothes. Logan continues to pester him, his locker unfortunately having been placed just a few spaces to the left of Damian’s. Damian had—as kindly as possible—forced a trade between him and the only boy who happened to be in the very back of the room. For a few blissful weeks, Damian had the last row of lockers to himself, up until Logan, the new kid who moved here from _Wisconsin_ , was plopped right by Damian just three weeks ago. Ever since day one he has been a pain, but secretly Damian enjoys the challenge. He still has lots of learning to do; threatening to suffocate someone’s mother in her sleep with her own pillow and then dumping her corpse into an eight foot grave in the middle of the woods miles from here _isn't_ normal, as Damian has come to learn. Logan had taken it with a grain of salt, naively deciding that Damian had a sense of humor only he can understand. The boy hasn’t left him alone since.

“Come on. My favorite was the one about my step dad. Really enjoyed the part about scarring my little sister with his severed han—“

It was all guessing really. Logan happens to wear his heart on his sleeve, unaware of how much he exposes through simple acts, or what he keeps on him. Logan is a clear mommas boy, the lock screen on his phone being a picture of him and a woman that is clearly his mother. His backpack has a bunch of sparkly doodles on them; hardly noticeable through the black, but Damian can tell it’s a child’s scrawl, no more than three. Damian had figured she was a girl when Logan called his mother after class asking what time Emily gets out of school. Logan had also perked up at the name “ _David_ ”, Damian even testing his theory a couple more times before inferring that “ _David_ ” was an important person. This was later confirmed when he overheard Logan talking about having a brother in the army, and having immense respect for soldiers, as well as an annoyed _and you should too!_

The step-father part Logan had let Damian know himself.

He was in the middle of insulting his father when Logan interrupted him. “My dad’s dead,” he had said, a smirk still on his face, as if he was glad that Damian hadn’t had a right answer for once. “Though I do have an asshole step-dad. His names Greg. Greg Lozovoy.” Logan had said the last name slowly, deeply, a slightly off look on his face. “Go on, though. Don’t wanna ruin the flow you’ve got goin’ on.”

Logan’s definitely something else.

“Slowly,” Damian says, just to tease him. “I’d do it slowly, so that he’d be sick, for weeks. Maybe even months.”

Logan shucks his pants down, his smile widening when Damian rolls his eyes. “That’s quite a bit of dedication, Wayne. Sure this isn’t personal?”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Damian says, closing his locker, heading off towards the bathroom. Logan snorts.

“Fine! You win!”

Logan used to ask why Damian changed in the bathroom. Damian had ignored him, mostly due to the fact that he didn’t have an appropriate answer to that. He does it to hide his scars; all of the marks on his body questionable to any sane person. The last thing he needs is for someone to report him to the principle and have people assume he’s severely abused by Bruce, or Pennyworth. Both, even.

Still. He was a bit sad when he realized that he’d have to hide his own body from Jon too—another secret to carry on his own.

 

~~~

 

He truly wasn’t planning on going back to Metropolis. When he had told Superboy he wouldn’t be seeing him again, he was being honest. He truly believed he’d never go back. If only the morgue wasn’t here. Well, if only the specific bodies he is looking for weren’t placed inside a morgue within Metropolis. He really would not be here if he had a choice. Clearly he doesn’t.

Superboy finds him right away.

“Can you scent people?” Damian asks, glaring as he massages at his shoulders. Superboy very unkindly dropped him on top of a roof.

“Excuse me?”

“You knew exactly where I was and who,” Damian continues, straightening his shoulders. “Now I’m beginning to think all those accidental run ins between us weren’t so accidental.” Not that he ever did, but Superboy’s flustered expression is worth it.

“I don’t _smell_ you,” Superboy says, disturbed. “It’s—it’s—none of your business. You said you wouldn’t come back but you’re here. So. Explain.”

He doesn’t have _time_ for this. He needs to find out what the names of the two corpses are, and that will hopefully be enough for a decent lead. Superboy waits patiently, his arms folded, his eyes most likely glaring in the dark, probably believing he looks something close to condescending.

Damian tilts his head, grinding his teeth. “I need to get inside the morgue. Find the men that died. Find out what killed them.”

“ _Why_?”

Damian walks past him. He points a grappling hook off towards the next building, cursing himself silently when he decides to say, “If you’re accompanying me, stay silent. The last thing I need is to get caught.”

“Robin—“

He shoots and swings.

Getting to the morgue is silent and quick. Superboy doesn’t say a word when Robin slips his way inside through a vent, following silently when they crawl through. Damian checks his watch, touching it and looking up when the 3-D map is pulled up. He’s already memorized the layout and pathways, but he turns to show Superboy—for advantageous reasons. It’d be better if, for whatever reason they separated, Superboy can find a way out. Damian doesn’t like the kid, but he isn’t entirely evil. Besides, Superboy can easily rat Robin out if he’s caught, and Damian doesn’t need his father wondering why Damian was in Metropolis for a second time.

“Can you memorize this in just a few minutes?” Robin asks. Superboy glances at it.

“Done.”

Stunned for only a second, Damian composes himself, continuing along the pathway. Superboy could just be trying to impress him, but Damian doesn’t have the time or the energy to question him. He’ll have to trust that they wouldn’t be in any situation where they have to split.

Superboy is still surprisingly silent as they crawl along the building, and he doesn’t protest when Damian suddenly stops, pausing to look down at the room beneath them. There are two people in the room, murmuring between one another. Damian looks for an earpiece, but he’s stopped when Superboy puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning in.

“Did you hear that?”

Damian jerks his shoulder, glaring at the boy behind him.

“No,” he hisses. Superboy continues to look wide eyed, looking down at the retreating figures.

“They said—they said that guy died ten years ago. They’ve both been dead for years.”

Damian furrows his brows. When a door closes and the chatter ceases, he removes the vent screen, jumping down with a soft thud. Superboy follows suit, floating, heading towards the two corpses on the tables. Damian narrows his eyes, reading the bracelets they have attached to them.

 

**Robert Shankton**. 42. Male. White. 186 lbs. 5’7’’.

**Date of Death** : 16 October 2009.

8 January 2019.

**Cause of Death** : Heroin Overdose.

Unknown.

 

**Nickolas Fretz**. 37. Male. White. 210 lbs. 6’2’’.

**Date of Death** : 23 June 2014.

8 January 2019.

**Cause of Death** : Car accident.

Unknown.

 

“That’s impossible,” Jon whispers. Damian side eyes him, standing up.

“ _You're_ impossible.”

Superboy glares. “This isn’t the time to—“

“You’re an alien. A powerful alien that happens to look very much like a human being. Someone coming back from the dead doesn’t seem too far fetched compared to you.”

Superboy blinks, crossing his arms. “Half,” he mumbles.

Damian gives him a look but when Superboy doesn’t elaborate, he moves on, collecting samples.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

“Keep a look out. Let me know when you hear people approaching.”

“Robin.”

Damian continues with his samples. He chips a nail, plucks a hair, takes their fingerprints, and is just about to reopen an incision when Superboy turns his head sharply towards the back door.

“Someone’s coming. Ah— _lots_ are coming!” He warns. They aren’t quick enough. The door bursts open, and seven masked men barge in, their attire exactly like...the men from last week. Three start shooting, and Robin ducks, rolling over towards the other side of the room. Superboy looks back, following after him.

“What are we going to do? Fight them?”

Damian looks up, the vent open, but no way to get there unless...Damian breathes deeply.

“No. We can’t. They’re here for the bodies, that’s all, and I don’t want staff coming in and wondering why we’re in here. Fly us towards the exit point and we can—“

Someone shoots at them. Robin covers his face, Superboy throwing himself in front of him. When they look up, the corpses are gone, but one has stayed behind.

He points the gun at them.

“Stay out of my business,” they say, the voice robotic, unnaturally deep. “And I won’t kill your little vigilante friend.”

There’s muffled yelling coming from the other side of the room, and the person runs out the back.

Superboy grabs his arm. “Should I—“

“Follow him,” Damian says, his voice rough. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“But I thought—“

“Just do it!”

They bolt, the back door leading towards a hallway.

“This way,” Superboy says. They take a right, Damian trying to readjust, the map he memorized slow to come to mind. It’s possibly because he mostly thought he’d be crawling through vents, not running through public hallways. He follows Superboy, up until he hears shouting. He pulls Superboy back, shoving them into an empty storage closet.

“No one can see us.” Damian says as a quick explanation. He looks around the room. He finds another exit via ventilation.

“But they’re _hurting_ people—“

“There hasn’t been a single shot fired,” Damian says, unscrewing the screen. “The screams are more of fear than pain. They should be good.”

“I don’t—“

“Do what you like,” Damian growls, throwing the screen out of the way. “But I’m leaving.”

He leaves. Superboy follows him a moment after. Damian leaves as quickly as he can, throwing the map up every now and then, double checking, needing to reach their van before they’re out of sight. Eventually Superboy leads, Damian following behind in annoyance, but it _is_ quicker, and they're piling out where they came in. Damian looks around once he's freed, waiting for the sound of screeching tires or insane beeping. It doesn’t come.

“Splendid. The van is lost.”

“What do you need the damn van for?” Superboy huffs. “You’re still not telling me what the hell is going. What we’re doing here. There are _zombies_ and crazy criminals threatening to _kill_ you and—“

“I’m not entirely sure,” Damian says calmly, pinching at the bride of his nose. He takes a breath in. “I need the license plate in order to track them. I...all I know is that people are being forced into doing something they don’t want to do. And dying for it.”

“...and all you need is a license plate?”

Damian glares. “It would be a _start_.” He begins to walk away, tired and disappointed, when Superboy begins to spout letters and numbers.

“6KLI724.”

Damian turns to look at him incredulously. There’s no way—why would Superboy even—

Superboy looks down, scuffing his shoes. “I’m not stupid. I could help you. We don’t—we don’t have to be friends but. I’m reliable.”

He’s known Superboy for years. Ever since they were children they’d bicker and fight. They fundamentally disagree on many things. Damian swears he can’t stand Superboy. He never would have imagined he would ever work with Superboy. He doesn’t want to work with Superboy, surely he doesn’t, but there’s a part of him that can’t help but agree with that last part.

“Reliable,” Damian repeats. He doesn’t like the way it feels, being directed at Superboy, but there’s some truth in it. Superboy has been at least a bit reliable, and that memory of his can prove more than helpful on occasion, surely.

Is Damian truly considering this?

“Once this thing is solved, we can part ways,” Superboy insists. “No more crossing boundaries. No interactions. You stay in Gotham, and I’ll stay here. Anyway,” Superboy says, shrugging his shoulders, “I know Metropolis inside and out. You might end up needing a tour guide.”

Damian feels around his teeth with his tongue. His cheek twitches.

“I’ll think about it. Next time I see you, you’ll know my decision.”

6KLI724. 6KLI724. 6KLI724.

“Robin, please, I can help—“

“I said I’d think about it,” Damian insists. But. Before he can leave, he hesitates. “Thank you.”

Then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did y'all think?? Enjoy the chapter/thought it was boring? What do you guys think of the new character Logan? Please comment any thoughts or questions!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @HappyDamijon! 
> 
> https://happydamijon.tumblr.com
> 
> Please comment and give kudos if you enjoyed reading! Next chapter shall be up soon ;)


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